


As The Moon Goes Dark

by WinterSorceress



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Demon Junkrat, Demon Roadhog, Demons, Human Zenyatta, Language Barrier, M/M, Monster Hunters, Naga, Naga Symmetra, Polyamory, Trans Genji Shimada, Vampire Doomfist, Vampire Sex, marriage pact, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSorceress/pseuds/WinterSorceress
Summary: Tekhartha Zenyatta has called the monastery home almost all his life, but being sheltered is one thing he is beginning to outgrow. However, wandering the grounds on the wrong night winds him in a bargain for his life with an undead hunter, a charming one that somehow Zenyatta can't help but trust. In five years, he is to become his groom, but time has a way of getting away from people, and so do memories of old promises, until they're on your doorstep once more.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny how some ideas meant to be small things, just flights of whimsy, end up becoming something so much bigger. I've been working on this idea for a little over a month it seems and it was originally a lot darker and shorter (as was Zenyatta's life), but now I'm proud to say it's now this, with intricate backstories and so on.
> 
> Note: The rest of Talon are also vampires. You will see them sometime in the future.
> 
> Enjoy!

His brother had warned him not to wander the grounds after sunset. There was too much strangeness in the dark, lurking danger. Unfortunately, he had always been a free spirit, one to challenge the rules whenever he saw fit. He ventured out to enjoy the night regardless, feeling safe and at home, naïve of what could be watching him at any given moment, waiting for the time to strike.

They lived in a monastery, after all, high up in the mountains, where only their fellow monks and nuns dwelled. Zenyatta found it hard to believe there was anything that would journey through subzero temperatures and biting, howling wind, just to do them harm. Above all, surely they had their God’s protection. The Iris would watch over them.

Wouldn’t it?

His steps were confident, even as his sandals slapped crisply against the ancient stone path. He partook in this trip practically every night, as long as the moon was bright enough to light the way; he didn't need a bad fall down any stairs after all, or it might be a miserable wait until morning with a twisted ankle or worse. He was certain Mondatta knew, despite his caution, though he never said anything about it, except vague warnings in general. Maybe he knew he was right.

Zenyatta was perfectly grown, on top of everything else, a mature twenty years of age. If he wanted to visit the shrine in the evening, even while everyone else slept, then there was no reason why he couldn’t. He could take care of himself.

Deep down, he could only hope that was true.

The night air was brisk, tantalizing to the touch against the dark tan skin of his bare arms, familiar like an old friend. Everything was still around him, and peaceful; only the faint wisps of distant clouds sailed across the stars. Frost glistened on the aging stone of the domed pavilion, which housed the holy site of prayer and meditation, and the last steps he cleared with zealous ease to reach it.

Crimson flowers decorated the center pillar, holy incantations etched into its sides, clear even in the dimness of the dusk. Petals were scattered across the floor, never blown away by the wind in some demonstration of divine protection, just as their sources never withered, even in the cold of the Himalayan winter. There was always a warmth here, welcoming and unfaltering.

There were even times the young monk was woken in the morning by his older brother, who scolded him gently for falling asleep outside in the middle of the night, despite the safety the shrine no doubt offered. He knew he only worried, only wanted him to be safe and happy. Yet, he felt increasingly ready with each passing day to seek out his own path.

He wondered if Mondatta would be cross with him if he discovered how he longed to explore the world beyond their mountains.

However, this wasn’t the time for personal qualms. Zenyatta hadn’t come here for that. Instead, he sought enlightenment, in the tranquility of the twilight, when everything else had faded away. Accordingly, he worked through his routine to set up the proper arrangement, fishing delicate incense and matches from the pockets of his robe.

He prompted the thrill of his venture to drift from his mind, breathing deeply to center himself. With careful, practiced movements, he lit the scented stem and placed it in its holder, allowing the breeze to carry the potent yet calming fragrance out of the shrine. Humbly, he prostrated himself before the pillar, requesting the Iris’s guiding hand.

There was a rattle of pebbles across the path behind him. It startled him, setting his heart thudding at its suddenness. Inner peace evaporated from his mind as it scrambled to identify what would be about this time of night. Perhaps it was a cat, or a mouse, and he was being silly getting so worked up over one of his fellow creatures who meant no harm. Regardless, theoretical explanations wouldn’t be enough to place him at ease. In a smooth, tense movement, he rose and whirled, eyes roving the emptiness between the stationary old buildings and statues that dotted the grounds, the incense left forgotten by his heels.

A human figure stared back at him, a dozen yards away, their build large, intimidating even from such a distance, as their eyes burned into his, for a long, brief second. Shadows devoured all in his sight, as a dark cloud slid across the moon. The chance occurrence only doubled Zenyatta’s building panic, knowing he was no longer alone and in the company of an unfamiliar person. He could see nothing now, and glanced around desperately, beginning to shake as his heart raced against his ribs in his aching chest.

Moonlight illuminated the monastery once more, giving him a moment of relief. He soon realized, however, that the stranger was no longer as far as they had been just two breaths prior. In fact, they were now just mere feet away, tall, dark, and menacing. He was certain now, more than ever, that this person was an intruder, with only him around to deal with them.

Even if he screamed...

“Aren’t you out a little late?” they asked simply, voice smooth and surprisingly gentle, despite everything. “Do the rest of your brothers and sisters know you are out here?”

And despite everything, Zenyatta tried to remain calm, minding his manners even now. “I...I think so. I c-come out here all the time...at this time of night...” he managed, voice threatening to fail him in his fear. “W-who are you? Why...why are you here...if I may ask?”

They smiled, seemingly pleased with him. “Such a polite monk. You must be frightened all alone out here,” they mused thoughtfully. “Since you asked...you may call me Akande. I am a traveling hunter, living off the lands that I explore. But unfortunately, I have been going hungry for quite a while now...”

Realization flickered through Zenyatta and he straightened, terror ebbing from his veins. “Oh, I see. We are more than happy to assist travelers who have fallen upon difficulty. I’m sure we have something to hold you over until breakfast.”

He wondered why Akande didn’t mention it before, instead of giving him such a fright. Perhaps he wasn’t used to the hospitality of the monasteries in their area. He didn’t look like he was from around here, after all, though he wore a plain kitycow like many of those who lived off the mountains. His features were vastly different from what he had seen in his two decades of life, just like his darker skin. It excited him, just a little. Maybe he had tales of the lands beyond here.

Forgetting his apprehension far too quickly, the monk ventured a few steps away. “Come with me. I’ll show you to the kitchen; I’m sure I can find you a spare room as well,” he declared, pride bubbling in his chest, both of his own helpfulness and of the temple he called home.

He could indeed take care of himself and the guest that had come to him for help.

A cold hand captured his wrist like a vice, jerking him to a stop; for a fleeting moment, he was aware that what held him was more metal than flesh, before his guest spoke. “There’s no need. I have all I require right here,” Akande informed, words frank and cool, almost taunting. With a sharp yet effortless movement, Zenyatta was back where he was, gaping up at the other, brown eyes wide with great confusion. “I apologize. I misled you. Did you mistake me for human, boy? It’s a common one; don’t worry.”

An instinctive terror seized him, especially with how Akande's fierce, sharp eyes burned into him. His was truly the gaze of a superior being, one who could end his life all too quickly. However, his time to merely observe was short before all control was lost. His feet left the ground, hoisted by a strong grip at the front of his robe, and, when he could finally make sense of what was happening again, he found himself pinned against the center pillar, gasping for breath.

“A-aah…!” was the initial whimper that left him in bewilderment. He could only gawk, eyes wide, stinging with fright. He clutched at the arm suspending him, its metallic smoothness something he again could only faintly recognize, perhaps a gauntlet. “W-wait…! W-what…what do…What do you want?”

There was something that flickered across Akande’s handsome features then, so quickly that the young monk could scarcely identify it as pity. However, it was no doubt his imagination running wild in his last moments. For a lingering moment, the man stared, drinking in the sight of him, unsmiling. It was as if he was debating if he was truly to be his victim this night.

“It’s as I stated: _You_ are what I want, what I require,” he repeated patiently, words slow and calculated; he clearly had no desire to rush this. “You’ll make a fine meal.”

“N-no...” His body reacted before his mind could fully process the meaning of such a declaration, shock taking hold as his heartbeat reached an unprecedented pace, trying to pound its way right out of his chest. “P-please no. I-I’ll do a-anything. Just...don’t...don’t hurt me...”

Helplessly, Zenyatta could only envision Mondatta fast asleep on his futon, completely unaware of his plight; no one could help him now.

A rich chuckle rumbled from Akande’s throat. “Oh, I’ll promise it’ll be as painless as I can manage, monk. I’m not a cruel man, after all,” he assured, never losing his air of control and strength. “Besides...what can someone like _you_ offer _me_? What could you have that I would want... other than your blood, of course?”

As if to drive his point home, the dark being smiled once more, only this time baring the whites of his teeth and of his twin fangs, keenly sharp. It reminded the boy that this was truly the only instance in which he had seen them, a dead giveaway that had been carefully guarded. If only he had noticed sooner. What could he have done then anyway?

Zenyatta was clueless, and utterly terrified.

Mind a haze of panic, he stammered, desperate, desperate for anything that could delay the inevitable, for a miracle. “I...I don’t have anything. I’m j-just a m-monk...” he admitted, feeling despair swallow him. Yet, even then, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the hunter’s face. There was something there, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Was it a softness? Regret? Whatever emotion or trick of the light, it lessened the tension in his body, enough for his mind to clear momentarily. He grasped for straws, for a sense of leverage. “B-but the question isn’t...what I _have_ , b-but...what you _want_...besides the...killing...me...bit. What do _you_ want?”

It was a miracle he received.

His honest inquiry was unexpected enough, it seemed, to blindside Akande, judging from the way his expression briefly was wiped blank. An eyebrow quirked and he regarded him all the closer, eyes scanning him, searching. Then his flesh hand was at his cheek, his thumb stroking it once, twice, before he was gently tilting his head upwards, as if wishing to acquire a better look at the one who had shattered his composure, even for a second.

“...It’s not often I get asked that. In fact...I think this is the first time...” Akande muttered, almost to himself. Zenyatta didn’t dare ask for clarification. He was too entrapped in the intensity of the larger male’s eyes, the softness that had begun to burn through, overriding everything else. “...You please me, and intrigue me. It would...indeed be a shame...just to kill you. I would make you mine instead.”

“...Would?” The monk’s stomach twisted with dread, with uncertainty. He didn’t yet know how to feel about the man’s proposition, but it would save his life. However, there was an apparent hang-up that threatened to ruin his slim chance.

By now, he would do anything.

“You are too young for me, barely an adult. It would be wrong of me to expect enough maturity from you, or wisdom, to consent,” he noted thoughtfully, nose scrunching up at the thought. “It would be more merciful to end you here. If only...you were a few years older. A pity.”

“I-I...I’m willing to wait...”

Now that surprised Akande, so much so that his grip slackened. With a bewildered yelp, the monk fell, hitting the ground with a pained grunt. His distressed noises started him back to focus and he quickly worked to make amends, helping him to his feet as he soothed any bruises or cuts with a large, gentle hand.

“I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to do that.” It was as if a veil had been tugged away, exposing what lay just beneath the surface. Their eyes locked then, now that they stood once again as near equals, though Akande was quite a few inches taller. “...Do you mean that? Are you truly willing to make such a promise to one such as me?”

It felt so easy to lie, to make an empty vow, but consequence would no doubt follow. It was more than that, however. There was something evident in the vampire--that name clicked for him now that the danger had passed--now that Zenyatta had inadvertently crossed a personal wall, a disquiet that he could virtually sense radiating from his person, from his brilliant gaze. Somehow, he felt more at ease than he had since he had first spotted him lurking that distance away. Somehow, he knew he would not hurt him, if he did not betray him or his trust.

“I am a monk of my word. And if that is what will protect this temple…” Despite this, he felt himself hesitate. After all, he was signing the rest of his natural born days away to an undead hunter. He had no idea what he was truly getting himself into, but this is where his choices had taken him. “You said you…desire me. I will be yours then.”

“I don’t even know your name...”

He regarded him, unfaltering, though a small smirk played across his lips. “Since you asked, you may call me Zenyatta,” he answered, mirroring the man’s earlier phrase with a touch of boldness. “Tekhartha Zenyatta.”

Akande too smiled, once again pleasantly surprised by him. “Akande Ogundimu,” he stated, conceding his full name to the one with whom he was making such an...intimate pact. “If you are sincere, you are to tell no one of this. Vampire hunters are a nuisance I do not wish to contend with.”

Admittedly understanding of such a plight, Zenyatta nodded, and hoped he could indeed keep such a fearfully exciting encounter a guarded secret. “If we have...reached an agreement, sir Akande, then...how long will it be until you return?”

“Depends. How old are you?”

This time, he faltered slightly, burdened with supernatural responsibility and all the while remembering just how young, in reality, he truly was. “I'm…twenty, sir. Twenty even.”

The vampire hummed to himself. “Hmm…I will give you five years. Then I will return for you and make you my groom,” he declared, voice deep and unfaltering, if not masking a hint of delight. “I will look forward to seeing you then, Brother Zenyatta.”

He then held out his gauntlet. Zenyatta’s, tan and slighter, was dwarfed when he offered his own. Nonetheless, he was gentle, as if handling a lamb, his hand cradled in cool metal. In a nearly romantic gesture, he kissed the palm of his future husband. Zenyatta shivered but allowed it, feeling heat touch his face.

However, a sharp pain chased away any bashfulness with a spark of horror, as those fangs sunk into his bared wrist. He couldn’t fight the sob that welled automatically somewhere in the back of his throat. The transgression was a passing one, and Akande was soon pulling away. To Zenyatta’s further bewilderment, he reached into his tolung, the pouch of his robe, to produce a small roll of bandages. With a surgical deftness and almost loving care, he wrapped the wound, refusing to simply let it bleed. A soft kiss to his temple was his fleeting apology.

“My mark, so you will never forget who you now belong to.”

Still shaken by the bite, Zenyatta allowed one last sniffle, nodding, though he minded it less and less, especially as the charming stranger began to slip away like a dream into the night.

“You have five years. Now run to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot more to much of the characters in this AU. Just be patient with me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life has moved on for Zenyatta. But when an accident jars old memories, he realizes he may just be out of time. But how is he going to explain things to his brother, and his boyfriend? There just may be too much to leave behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of like a buffer chapter, so it won't be as exciting, but I put in as much love as I could manage between work and sleep. Also, just fricking take it.

Looking back, it was difficult to recall how life was for them before his older brother led them to the monastery they had long called home. After all, he had only been a little older than a toddler when they embarked on the journey, perhaps four or five years of age. He didn’t remember their parents, only that they had been alone in the world, alone and hungry; frightened.

His older brother had been his everything, his protector, his teacher, his provider. It seemed like they had barely survived, scraping by on food and money tossed to them by pitying strangers and older orphans. Desperate, they had stuck together, through the long, lean times. And then their luck changed, when Mondatta overheard an opportunity he could not allow to pass.

There was a local monastery, just a few days journey away. If they could make it, they would be cared for, fed and educated. Between a lifestyle of prayer and meditation, and an early death from starvation, there was no choice to make. While their time on the streets was mainly a blur to Zenyatta, a haze on the edge of his memory, it was the harrowing hike up the mountains that remained the most distinct, haunting his dreams during the coldest nights.

It had felt like they would never make it. They had walked forever, escorted only by a single guide who refused to permit two young boys to go it alone. More than once, his feeble legs failed him and he cried, trembling and freezing; he wanted to go back, away from this frightening place. Mondatta shushed him gently, telling him to hold onto him, to close his eyes, and hauled him onto his back, listening to his baby brother’s sniffles as they were lost in the wind. He had watched nonetheless, that barren cliffside that hugged the mountain seared into his subconsciousness, pebbles tumbling over the edge constantly to remind him, always falling through the thin air, always.

He was fast asleep when they arrived, his streaks of tears frozen on his cheeks.

It seemed, quite frankly, like the rest was history. The Shambali had taken them in eagerly, and the both of them adjusted easily, and thrived. Mondatta especially had devoted himself, striving to become highly esteemed in their order, even a religious leader, by his twentieth year. However, unlike his older brother, the Shambali recognized that there was no promise that Zenyatta would do the same.

They knew it hadn’t been his choice, and had wanted Zenyatta to make it for himself when the time came. Unfortunately, leaving was much more easily said than done. The monastery was the only home, the only sanctuary, he had ever known. And, somehow, every time he had been offered a trip down to the neighboring villages, to assist with errands and resupplying, he found an excuse to remain.

Today was just another one of those occasions.

“I never did understand why you never go with them.”

Now fresh into his twenty-fifth year, he was grateful for such freedom of choice, as well as for the understanding of his brothers and sisters, both blood and monastic. He was no longer as naïve and immature, though he remained as free-spirited as always. The young monk was also now very much in love.

Zenyatta’s gaze settled on his companion with fond exasperation. He rested his cheek in a pale hand as he watched the departing supply wagon with vague interest. He was yet another newcomer, hailing from the lands to the east just over a year and a half prior. His had been quite the tale, fleeing the brewing turmoil of his powerful clan on the desperate plea of his brother. How he had happened upon their monastery, out of all the land between their countries, the monk remained in awe with how fate had seemed to have chosen them for each other.

Self-conscious about the matter at hand, Zenyatta crossed his arms. “...I have my reasons.”

His name was Genji Shimada and he was, to put it frankly, a runaway ninja. Unlike with the Tekharthas, the Shambali had been a bit more hesitant to allow such a stranger to stay, considering he had no intention of becoming a monk. Instead, he offered his services to protect the grounds from intruders and thieves, even escorting them during more perilous treks, and it turned out to be one they couldn’t refuse. His expertise in stealth combat proved to be essential, especially during these periods of unrest and danger; he protected many from a violent end.

He grinned brightly. “Okay, okay. I understand,” the ninja laughed, sitting up straight. “Though maybe I can take you some day. There’s so much to see.”

If he was to be honest, he and Genji were alike in many ways. They both cherished their freedom and had a healthy love for mischief, though his was a much more reserved one. In a way, they were the rebels of their families, and it was nice to have someone else around to talk to that felt the way he did. As such, it was difficult to be cross with him. He was simply too charming, so sweet and undeniably handsome.

Heat touched his cheeks as he folded his hands neatly at his front. “...I would like that, some day,” he agreed, unable to fight off a surge of bashfulness. However, as always, there was hesitation, as he stressed the time it would surely take before he found the courage to indulge him. “But, for now, I think it’s time we returned to our training. I don’t think Mondatta would be pleased to find us loafing around.”

Quick to act, Genji was already on his feet, never lacking energy or warmth. “Sure, Zen,” he replied, swooping in to plant a sly kiss on his cheek. “You know, even now, I can’t believe he’s alright with us...you know...being an item. Isn’t he worried I’ll convince you to leave? I mean...I’m no monk.”

Side by side, the pair ventured up the path, heading deeper into the monastery. The wind howled through the empty spaces and buildings, as if a great beast slept beneath their feet, and carried specks of snow even with the end of summer no more than a month behind them. Having once again been entertaining thoughts of accompanying the resupply cart, while everyone else continued their endless studies, they found themselves alone, for a few minutes at least.

“He doesn’t mind as much as you would think,” Zenyatta mused, holding his arms behind his back. He minded his balance as they trekked over the icy stone, but never ventured far from his companion’s side. He wished they were holding hands, but this was not the place nor the time for such displays of affection. “As long as you behave yourself, you should be fine.”

The monk realized how that had sounded only after it left his mouth.

“Behave myself, huh? Why wouldn’t I do that?” Even without meeting his eyes, he could hear the way his brows must have been arched playfully, and he smothered a giggle. Then came the consequences of having such a mischievous boyfriend, the light butting of his hips against his. “Whoops.”

With a surprised yelp, he caught himself, his laughter ringing through the cold air and against the stone of the steps they descended. “Genji! Quit it! I said behave! Not...” He cut himself off with an unbecoming snort as the ninja went in for seconds, arms shooting out for balance. Miscalculating, he caught his wrist against the edge of a wall, and the pain shot up his nerves, particularly harsher than it should’ve been. “Ow...! S-see? Ow ow ow...”

Despite his flinching, Zenyatta couldn’t stop smiling. Sure enough, Genji was before him, checking his hand. He expected it to be a nasty scratch, but nothing more. The corner, however, had torn the bandage he always kept his right wrist wrapped in.

All at once, it seemed the same question leapt to their mind.

“Ouch. I’m sorry, Zen. I was just teasing. Here...” Genji apologized, holding his hand delicately. “Tsk. It ripped the bandage. Is there a reason why you keep it like this? Just curious.”

“...I...I don’t recall...” the monk confessed, his memory failing him. “I guess...it was a habit I accidentally picked up. I do it unconsciously every few months; I never really pay it any mind.”

“...That’s strange...” the other commented frankly, and Zenyatta couldn’t argue. “Do you mind if I take it off then? We should get a better look.”

“It’s probably nothing, but I don’t see why not.”

Though he swore there was nothing major about it, he couldn’t help but inhale sharply as the ninja unwrapped it carefully. As expected, the skin was unusually wan compared to the rest of him arm, denied sunlight for who knows how long. From the top, there appeared nothing out of the ordinary. Then Genji inspected his wrist.

“...Zen...what _is_ this?” He sounded a lot more in shock than he had any right to be about a mere scratch.

“What do you mean? It’s just a...”

Two old puncture wounds, almost healed over, stared back up at him, dark red, almost black, in coloring. They were positioned side by side, perfectly aligned, as if...as if they were...bite marks. A sickness immediately settled in the pit of his stomach, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. At first, he was terrified, clueless as to how he could’ve gotten them.

Then, flickers of memory; a dark, moonlit night, the smell of incense, a rich accent, that smile...

“Zenyatta...? Are you okay? You look pale. Zen?”

Bewilderment turned to panic, and he yanked his wrist back hastily. “I...I’m f-fine...! No, no...I’m not well. I have to go!” So much so that it took him a moment to settle on a fleeting excuse to leave immediately. There was abruptly so much to think upon, remembering after all this time what dwelled just on the horizon. “My apologies!”

The blank look of utter confusion on Genji’s face promised him the precious seconds he needed, though it stung to have to leave him in such a way. Without another word, he was scurrying away, pace unsteady and hurried over the slippery ground, as he clutched the once forgotten mark. How could he have forgotten?

Akande’s return was all too close.

 

* * *

 

 He had a week at the most.

 Zenyatta had rushed back to his room, determined to shut himself away long enough to give himself the chance to think, and dug through his belongings. Now that he looked back, he recalled scribbling down the timing, down to the phase of the moon and season, somewhere he would not forget or lose. However, his mind was in such a whirlwind of panic and disbelief, it took him a few failed attempts just to pinpoint what that certain item was.

Growing stumped and frustrated with himself, the young monk finally rose and, with his hands on his hips, surveyed his now reasonably untidy surroundings, his old books and few other possessions scattered, thrown about carelessly. He huffed, on the brink of pouting like a child, scolding himself for allowing such an important ordeal to slip his mind for so long. He thought he would remember making a pact with a supernatural being, but the truth was, life had swept him away, and as did his mind’s insistence on suppressing and denying the fact that the event had even been real.

Then his gaze fell on the journal he kept at his bedside.

“...Well, that was kind of obvious,” he muttered irritably to himself.

Claiming the weathered tome, he settled on the edge of his futon and began to flip through. Anxiety thrummed constantly through his veins, only kept at bay by his decades of discipline, as he scanned impatiently through the written record of his life at the monastery. At last, he found the section he sought, the chapter of his life where things had once seemed so easy, before a shadow had cast itself upon it, a shadow with a charming smile.

Akande.

Zenyatta wondered if the vampire would even remember someone like him, though, he had seemed all too delighted by their agreement. Had he graced his dreams like he haunted his, subconscious flights of fancy of the two of them dancing through the night, all but dispersing from his mind when he awoke? And that was just what he could recall, salvaged from the faintest traces of his memory.

He didn’t dare to prod deeper.

Instead, he returned his attention to the journal, having just about found the passage he had been looking for. Immediately, he realized the sense of impending doom had been a lot more accurate than he could’ve hoped. He had only two days before the fifth anniversary of that fateful night would be upon him, and the realization that he was nearly out of time threatened to crush him under smothering despair.

A knock at his door startled him back to the present. Automatically, he slammed the book shut and shoved it back into place. He stumbled back to his feet, heart recovering from its brief sprint.

“Yes?” he almost squeaked in his state of surprise. However, it only took a single glance to notice that the disarray of his quarters would instantly hint that something was amiss. “O-one moment please! Who is it?”

Zenyatta didn’t even wait for his guest to answer before he was scrambling across the room to return his discarded garments, papers, and tiny knickknacks to their approximate places, his bare feet thudding across the wooden floor.

“It’s Genji. Are you alright in there, Zen?” the ninja called tentatively. “You took off so fast, that I didn’t have a chance to...make sure you weren’t in trouble. Can I come in?” 

The sound of his other half’s voice stopped him short. He hadn’t expected Genji to come after him so soon. In fact, he had wished he wouldn’t, but just ignoring him when he was obviously distressed was something that was physically impossible for him. His heart ached, knowing that, above all, he had a daunting decision to make. In a way, however, there was really no choice for him at all.

After all, this was the punishment for his frivolous carelessness. 

It took him a few moments to find his voice again, choked up by the gravity of everything that was happening all too soon. “...Y-yes, you may. Come in, Genji,” he answered, quieter than he had wanted to.

The door slid open, ushering Genji inside.

“I was...just looking for something...important.”

The ninja said nothing at first, simply observing the uneasy monk and his personal room. “Is that why your sandals are on your desk?” He cracked a smile then, unable to help it.

Abashed, he whipped his head to see for himself that he had, indeed, placed his shoes in one of the most unfitting places imaginable. “Oh...” he uttered, turning red as he brought a hand to his mouth in disbelief of his own mistake. He supposed he should’ve been more embarrassed but, with Genji, he couldn’t help but find laughter instead, chuckling at his own silliness. “My mistake. Was that not a shoe rack?”

“No...” His boyfriend spoke softly, approaching him slowly as his arms reached in a silent request for permission. Zenyatta hesitated momentarily, before stepping forward, accepting the offer to find temporary comfort in the ninja’s hold. “Is...is everything alright, Zen? No...I know it isn’t. I want...I want you to know you can tell me anything.”

He glanced away, unable to look Genji in the eye. Such a response only worried the other more, inspiring restlessness. Gingerly, he grasped for the younger man’s wrist, grip loose, in desire to inspect the apparent cause of his distress once more. It was dropped, however, the moment Zenyatta expressed unease, protesting with a single look of disapproval, accompanied by an unhappy frown.

“Sorry...” he muttered with a touch of sheepishness. “You know, I only want to help if I can. I love you, Zen. I don’t like seeing you upset, especially not knowing why.”

With a sigh, Zenyatta rested his forehead against Genji’s. “I apologize. I don’t mean to trouble you, nor do I not appreciate your concern,” he declared, only loud enough for the two of them to hear. Relishing the moment of closeness between them, he closed his eyes, listening to the ninja’s breathing, feeling the jumping of his pulse. “I just...I can’t tell you; it’s something I have to deal with by myself. Do you understand?”

There was a beat. “...Yes and no.” Despite everything, he could still hear the playfulness in Genji’s reply, and it encouraged him to smile once more. “You’ve done so much for me. I can’t just—”

“You can _trust_ me,” Zenyatta put frankly, moving his hands to settle on his sides, shushing him with both his words and his touch. A bunching underneath Genji’s clothes was a good distraction, and he set to fixing it with more meticulousness than necessary. “Your wrap is a bit...Let me—"

“I’ve told Mondatta...” Genji stated, just as evenly, his tone bordering seriousness. Bewildered, the monk’s hands froze in place. “I thought he should know. Should I...have not?”

Yet another vital person he had to part from, his only family. It would break his older brother’s heart if he left so suddenly. Yet, at the same time, he had always wanted him to find his own path. Perhaps this was...

He shook his head, both dismissing Genji’s concerns of overstepping and clearing his own thoughts at the same time. “No, no. It’s fine,” he reassured, gently pulling away. “Just...please don’t...speak of this to him. I want to tell him myself...when the time comes.”

A bit dizzy, overwhelmed, Zenyatta wandered away absently, turning his back to the ninja, a hand to his head.

“When?” Genji asked quietly. “When is this going to happen, this thing...this thing you won’t tell me about?”

Unable to resist the weight of it for another second, as it only continued to increase, he bowed his head, allowing his shoulders to at last slump. “...Two days. I have two days.” For a minute, there was nothing spoken between them, though the tension might as well have been visible. He then looked back at Genji, brown eyes pleading. “Please respect my wishes, dearest, and trust that this is something I must handle on my own.”

After all, he was a monk of his word.

 

* * *

 

 Zenyatta drifted through the next day, feeling much like a ghost. What had once been all but gone from his mind was what he now mulled over constantly. He attempted to attend his lessons as if nothing was amiss, but it was difficult when he was almost utterly distracted.

His dream the night before had not helped in the slightest. In fact, it had only made matters all the more complicated, though he had barely understood it. It had not been his usual sort, either, even with Akande’s presence involved. No, it had been very different, too different.

Now, all the monk could think about was the vampire, about how vastly he had changed in the span of a minute. He had been gentle and polite, even kind, having only needed thoughtfulness to be shown for that veil of coldness to be pushed aside. And above all, he had shown him mercy and given him time to live, to mature, before he spirited him away.

He wasn’t entirely certain how to feel about that. He was only so experienced himself, after all, and it was a very limited set. It could truly mean that there was something more to Akande, or that, in reality, he was stuck in a very messed up situation that he needed to struggle against as much as possible.

In the end, only time could bring him the answers he so desperately needed, and that time was only growing shorter.

Quietly, Zenyatta visited the closest of his brothers and sisters, knowing it would very likely be his last chance to speak with them. It was challenging to ensure they did not suspect anything out of the ordinary, even more so when he gifted them a few of his even fewer possessions. He received a number of puzzled, and even troubled looks, but no one spoke up or requested an explanation other than the ones he fabricated.

Perhaps theirs was the same reason why he had yet to be confronted by Mondatta for his strange behavior. Genji was one who worked both quickly and discreetly. There was a strong possibility he had used that to both their advantage, spreading the word that yes, he would not be his typical self, but it was a matter he didn’t wish to be interrogated about. The monk could sense how they longed to reach out to him, but they always pulled back at the last second.

In the end, it was for the best, or at least he could only hope as much.

 

* * *

 

 This time, the dream came more vividly, clear as day, bathed in golden light.

Zenyatta knew this light. He felt its warmth every time he meditated, every time he prayed for guidance. It was something he would always keep within him, even if his path led him away from the monastery, much like the love of his brother.

He realized that this was the direction the Iris wished of him. Beholding it for himself strengthened his resolve. This was its mission for him, his purpose, his journey.

More than ever, he understood.

 

* * *

 

His last day at the monastery was the hardest one he had ever lived through. He walked its paths, its halls, with the knowledge they were ones he never would know again. Above all, he treaded as lightly as he could, wishing he had thought twice about giving Genji the exact time before he was due to leave. In truth, he could never have lied to him like that, especially now.

Zenyatta’s greatest challenge, however, was avoiding Mondatta. He had tried, tried to prepare himself for what could possibly be said to the very pillar of his life up until this point. Yet, when it came down to it, he couldn’t, he just couldn’t say goodbye. And so, he refused.

If he was truly meant to, then he would, but not now, though it broke his heart not to give his brother the proper explanation he was due.

Genji, on the other hand, already knew to some extent. He had seen the bite with his own eyes. He wanted to ask, but, much like the monk, he couldn’t quite muster the words. And so, he didn’t. Though, that didn’t mean they didn’t spend time together before his departure.

It was always easy with Genji, and, so very hard. His heart pleaded with him not to choose Akande over Genji, even more so than it had with Mondatta. It was terrified they would never meet again. Yet, the Iris called him to action, to make this harrowing choice, for both his sake and the vampire’s.

He would save Akande.

But who would save Zenyatta?

All too soon, daylight faded from the grounds, casting everything in shadows, as dusk crawled into existence. Just as slowly, the monastery grew void of life as its inhabitants retreated to their quarters. And just like with every other moonlit night, Zenyatta stayed behind.

Only this night was _not_ like any other, and he wondered if he was truly as alone as he felt.

Gazing out over the motionless buildings and statues that lay before him, he waited, steadying himself, reminding himself that this was the vow they had made to each other. His eyes searched for any telltale signs of his guest, unable to pretend that he wasn’t, at the same time, excited to see him again. Would Akande have changed at all? Or would he have remained precisely the same, perfection untouched by time?

The sight of the moon peeking over the jagged peaks in the distance was his signal. With a deep breath, Zenyatta set off for the shrine, chest tight with anticipation. Warily, he glanced about for any unexpected company, expecting at least one person to attempt to stop him. But then, no one knew what he had gotten himself into, not truly.

They would never know what happened to him.

The crimson flowers stirred in the breeze in greeting as he reached the frosted stairs to the pavilion. It never ceased to leave him in wonder how they remained in bloom, season after season, year after year, thriving in the Iris’s warmth. The scent of incense lingered here as well, lit day after day, almost perfectly recapturing the smell of that night, as if he had never left.

Exhaling sharply, Zenyatta sunk to his knees, expecting a wait that he would patiently endure. Constantly vigilant, he listened closely, embracing every sound, every faint birdcall and stir of the monastery, as he felt for that familiar presence. What he didn’t anticipate was the sound of footsteps originating from where he himself had come. It stirred him with a surge of alarm, his head turning sharply.  

“You are here. I’m glad you didn’t forget about me, monk.”

However, he already had company. As powerful as always in the moonlight, the dark man stood before him. Bewildered by the suddenness of his arrival, Zenyatta could only gawk at first, utterly distracted by the soft warmth in the gaze that embraced him.

Akande offered him a hand and, tentatively, he accepted it. Effortlessly, he pulled him to his feet, claiming both of his slighter hands with a sense of sentimentally. Just like those years ago, he found his own lack of fear curious. In fact, he almost felt safe, so close to the vampire who had charmed and kissed him, had marked him as his own.

“I missed you dearly, Zenyatta,” Akande murmured, taking his chin in a large, gentle hand that urged him to look up at him. “You have grown splendidly.”

Then he was leaning for him. The monk caught his breath, realizing his intentions, yet he couldn’t find the desire to resist. Instead, his lips trembled with a hint of want, remembering the deeper traces of his dreams he hadn’t dared to recall...until now, until he was offering just what he had subconsciously experienced.

“Zen!”

“Zenyatta, who the...Who in the world _is_ that?”

Their private moment was shattered in an instant by the calls of the ones he was daring to leave behind. In a way, he had expected Genji, but Mondatta was a surprise he couldn’t deal with. It seemed he couldn’t run away from his responsibility to his only family forever. They were already at the stairs, rushing to confront them.

“Genji! Brother!” Zenyatta gasped, retreating closer to the vampire. He stammered, stupefied, caught red-handed. “This is...This is Akande.”

 He knew that simple explanation wouldn’t even begin to satisfy them, and that he would be lucky if he wasn’t forced to spill everything right then and there, in front of Akande.

Genji regarded the stranger with a curious eye, if not a bit wary of him at the same time. And behind those eyes, the wheels turned visibly in his head, as he attempted to piece together what little he knew. “Is this...Is this the one who bit you?”

“He what!”

Overwhelmed in their spotlight, Zenyatta glanced about, from face to face. “I...I have explaining to do, I realize...”

“How very keen of you, brother,” Mondatta remarked, beside himself with disbelief and confusion. He crossed his arms, almost imposing in his quiet, simmering fury.

Yet, what surprised him the most was Akande’s reaction to their uninvited guests. “...I apologize. This was not what I was expecting but...” He bowed his head, stepping away from Zenyatta’s feuding loved ones. “I will wait for you. Come find me when you decide, or not. I will not force you.”

“But I thought...”

“Do not be mistaken, Zenyatta You will always have a choice.”

 

* * *

 

 Short of breath, he labored down the path. With each step, the monastery grew farther, as did his brother and Genji, and the home he had known his entire life, and yet he continued on, unfaltering. Akande had offered him a choice, but it was one he had already made.

Convincing Mondatta had been another story altogether. As expected, he had been rife with concern and disbelief, distraught, about the mess his little brother had gotten himself into. Genji, on the other hand, had known better than to interfere. He knew it was something that, in the end, the brothers had to decide on alone, as a family. Though, now that the gravity of what he was about to do was no mystery, he too had been reluctant to simply allow him to go through with it.

“A vampire is not someone you can trust,” Mondatta had warned him, despite the gentleness in his voice, edged by fear.

“But I trust him,” slipped out of Zenyatta’s mouth all too naturally.

It wasn’t a lie, but that didn’t mean it was wise.

Zenyatta clutched the mala in his hand, his brother’s parting gift. Waiting patiently, as he had promised, Akande stood at the foot of the slight hill, arms crossed, eyes closed. He wasn’t sure how to interpret his posture, but something gave him the feeling he wasn’t expecting him.

He wanted to call out to him, to assure him he wasn’t going to leave him to face the night alone, but thought better of it. If he was truly unsuspecting, then the look of utter surprise on his handsome face would be a treat that he severely needed. There was no telling what the vampire would have in store for him, but he was ready.

The Iris’s mission had been a convenient excuse, a disguise for the recklessness that hadn’t left, even in all these years. When he had walked away from him, he had almost pursued him. There was something about him that called to him, and just as their God pushed him.

“I never thought it would be like this...” His brother’s words echoed in his mind, his eyes clenched with pain as he had warred with himself.

This wasn’t what he had expected either, but the unknown was tempting to him, too tempting.

“I apologize for the wait, sir...”

To his secret delight, the dark man almost jumped right then and there, gaze wide as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing right in front of him. “Z-Zenyatta? What are you doing here?”

The monk smiled softly. “I am a monk of my word,” he claimed, all too simply summing up the whirlwind of emotions this man inspired in him.

After a moment, Akande’s expression softened, an inner knowing burning in his eyes. “As you are,” he murmured, almost wistfully. Tentatively, he claimed that wrist once more, bestowing a kiss to the back of his hand, gazing deep into his eyes as he did so. “You are mine.”

Zenyatta didn’t mind the sound of it, even as he was led away into the darkening twilight, the moon nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote half that interrogation scene before I realized I was writing myself into a ditch. I'll try to include some more of the juicy bits of it in the next chapter. In short, Mondatta was not keen on feeding his baby brother to a strange vampire. Also, Zenyatta remembers all too late he's afraid of going back down the mountain. Akande is going to have fun with that. And by fun, he may want to strangle a monk just a little (no, not really).
> 
> It might be a while until I update again as I have two other stories to work on. I'll do my best to balance them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first night is full of danger and uncertainty, and it's only the beginning of their journey and of what lies between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit longer than I thought it would, and there was a lot of changes. I reworked a lot of the plot and added tons of excitement and characters and creatures. I hope it won't disappoint.
> 
> Also, if you want to skip right to some of the good stuff, I started a [ drabble collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12328224/chapters/28031238) for smut that is mostly spoiler free, depending on when I write it. Just in case you want to see some action and don't want to wait. Because they just have so much potential I can't resist.

“Where are you taking me?”

The simple question was spoken into the crisp, silent distance between them. For the longest time, he had struggled to summon the courage to speak to his companion, who only continued to lead him at a steady pace down the mountain. So late at night, he was not the most graceful traveler, tripping over an occasional pebble or dip in the path. Nonetheless, he followed, obligated, though both cold and fear gnawed at him.

For the longest moment, Akande didn’t respond, and Zenyatta started to suspect he didn’t hear him.

“...I’m taking you to my clan,” he declared, voice even, almost distant in tone. The openness he had expressed earlier had passed the moment they started on their way. Now it was practically a manner of business. “...I desire their approval before I bring another member...before I turn you.”

His answer sent a chill up the monk’s spine, both with its meaning and its frankness. “...Oh...” He didn’t know what else he had expected. The desire to protest welled in him, but then he remembered, this was the path he had chosen. “...I...I s-see...”

There was no running now; Akande would catch him. He shook his head at that thought. He had to be resolute. The Iris had spoken to him, clearly, and if this is what it desired of him, on top of everything else, he had to be unfaltering. He had to have faith that everything would be right with the world.

Zenyatta stopped short, eyes wide, as they reached a familiar path. It snaked its way down the mountainside, barren, its edges crumbling seemingly under the slightest weight. Memories of that long, strenuous journey, those decades ago, rushed back to him. Old terror rendered him immobile.

“What is it?” Akande inquired, stopping midstride. his dark brown eyes searched him for the source of his hesitation. “We should keep going. These mountains can be dangerous.”

He didn’t look at the vampire; he couldn’t, couldn’t take his eyes off the trail. “...I...I remember this path, from when I first came to the monastery,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“...I’m afraid I don’t follow, monk. Are you coming?”

For a few seconds, the young man had to fight to reclaim his voice. “...I’m scared. My...my brother had to carry me up, I was so frightened then,” he tried to explain, voice trembling. “I don’t trust this path. I’ll fall.”

There was a beat between them. Zenyatta felt shame heat his face, but it was nothing he could help. After years of nightmares, he had come to recognize his own phobias, such as this. Nonetheless, he was already half prepared for the hunter to berate him for slowing them down. Frantic and abashed, he willed his legs to move, but they wouldn’t obey; they only trembled, rooted in place.

The insults never came.

“...I understand,” Akande mused thoughtfully. “...You said that your brother had to carry you? If I may be so bold as to offer...I can do the same...at least until you are feeling more comfortable.”

Such a sympathetic reply was unexpected enough to at last prompt him to tear his gaze away from the mountainside. There was no mockery present in his companion’s expression, only a quiet patience, kindness. Discovering comfort in his words, in his look, he dared believe he was serious in his offer.

Tentatively, Zenyatta nodded. “My...my legs won’t move so...” he murmured sheepishly. “...If y-you don’t mind; I hope I won’t...be too heavy.”

Tickled by his concern, Akande let out a rich guffaw as he approached. “You needn’t worry so much about me,” he assured warmly. Instead of picking him up outright, he crouched before him, offering his back to the monk. “I take pride in my strength. A feather like you will be easy. I would appreciate it, though, if we can avoid any knees in my back.”

Despite the simplicity and generosity of their agreement, the young man still faltered, unable to resist flushing at the thought of being carried by a man he barely knew, an almost romantic, intimate gesture so early into their time together. “T-thank you. I appreciate it. Just...just give me a second to...get situated.”

Again, Akande chuckled, lower in volume this time around. “Take your time,” he started to advise before he paused, as if remembering his own earlier statement; his eyes seemed fixed on the deep blackness of the heavens, though the stars glittered undisturbed. “...Actually...do try to hurry up...if you can. I don’t wish to be here long either.”

The vampire’s voice was as even as ever, but there was something just beneath the surface, a wariness. Anxiety began its buzz through his system as he worked to carefully anchor a hold on the other’s shoulders. As soon as he gripped his sides with his knees, he was being lifted from the ground. There was a fleeting moment of panic as his grasp threatened to fail, before Akande’s arms came to hold him fast.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry about that, monk. I got a little ahead of myself...”

“...If I may ask...” Zenyatta began, tone harboring a hint of timidity. He adjusted his arms, mindful of every movement, until they were looped lightly around his companion’s neck. “...What...what are you watching for? Is there...something I should be aware of, sir?”

For a moment, the vampire didn’t answer or move. Despite the fact that it was difficult to tell, in his current position, if the other’s eyes were even open, he could just feel it, how his gaze continued to survey their surroundings with a heightened awareness, sharp and seemingly all-seeing. It only made him all the more nervous, almost prompting him to speak before he finally received an answer.

“It’s nothing that you should concern yourself with,” he insisted gently, glancing back at him, his deep brown eyes casting a brief spell of ease over the young monk. “I’ll handle matters. You’ll be safe with me; I promise you.”

Akande didn’t wait for his response, instead starting along at a brisk pace. It was nothing he felt he could complain about, so he remained quiet, his mind dwelling endlessly on the situation he had found himself in. He had so many questions about the man he now traveled with, about the creature whom he had promised his hand to.

All he had to do was ask, but, just like before, he wondered if he wanted to know the truth.

“...Tell me, Tekhartha. How long did you call that monastery home?”

It was apparent Zenyatta wasn’t the only one whose curiosity yearned to be sated.

“Oh...” he breathed, surprised that the other desired conversation. It was a pleasant surprise, one that he too needed. Grasping the opportunity, he pulled his mind for a moment back to his days among the Shambali rather than focusing on the journey ahead. “I was...quite young when my brother and I came to them—the Shambali, I mean—perhaps only five or six, maybe even seven; the time before then is a blur to me.”

“Twenty years is a fair estimate then?”

The monk only nodded.

“What about your parents?”

“...I...I don’t remember them. Mondatta does, but he doesn’t speak of them,” he explained quietly, resting his head on Akande’s broad shoulders. “I think something...bad happened, and he doesn’t...”

“...Want you to know?” the man ventured to finish for him, involved in his soft-spoken words. “Perhaps. Sometimes it is for the best. Maybe he’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

“It would be nice to know, instead of spending my whole life wondering...” was his wistful mutter, uttered into the wool of Akande’s kitycow.

For a beat, neither of them said anything more, though Zenyatta could virtually see the wheels turning in the vampire’s head. “...No matter what happened...or wherever they may be, living or dead...” he attempted gently, picking his words with care. “I’m certain...I’m certain they would be proud of you.”

            One would think such a claim simple and, at first, he tried desperately to disprove it in his mind. After all, he was a fool who wasn’t brave enough, to even walk down a mountain path that his brothers and sisters had done a hundred times, or wise enough, not to land himself in a pact with a vampire. He was leaving everything behind based on dreams and his own selfish desires and promises.

            But somehow, it was just the claim he needed to hear.

            “...Thank you.”

A chuckle rumbled in the vampire’s throat. “I only speak the truth,” he insisted sincerely. “You are brave and honorable, and very kind. There are not many who would choose to face the consequences of their own foolishness, especially when those consequences involve...well, me. You don’t flinch either when I touch you or assume the worst; if I am to be just as honest, that means a lot. Most humans would run the other way.”

“It didn’t feel right to hide from you. I feared that would only worsen things, for the both of us,” Zenyatta confessed gravely. He paused for a moment, remembering his dreams, that warm light that seemed to speak to his very soul. “But it was more than that...”

“Oh?”

A golden explosion lit the heavens, as a surge of thunder shook their world at its foundation. Akande stumbled with a bewildered yell, as Zenyatta yelped in alarm. Their calm descent was quiet no longer, as another presence made itself known.

“What...what was that!”

“Hold on! Be still!” the vampire urged, franticness edging his voice. “We’re not alone. We have to move!”

“W-what!”

That was the only warning before his companion was taking off, hitting an almost utter sprint as the biting wind whistled past them. Torn between curiosity and terror, it took sheer will for the monk to decide if beholding their company would be truly worth the risk of nightmares. He was just relieved it wouldn’t involve looking down.

Another roar of chaos rumbled through the sky, seemingly causing the mountain itself to tremble. It startled him terribly. With a gasp, he jumped, his head snapping upwards. With wide, amber eyes, he fought to track a blur of movement, a heavy rustling of feathers, before at last discovering a being drifting on crimson wings. For a split second, he almost mistook them for a human, at least until he saw their face.

“Akande!”

It dove for them.

“Shit!” the dark man swore into the wind. “Zenyatta, don’t you dare let go! We’re going down!”

“W-wait!”

There was no waiting. As quick as a switch, Akande was a creature of agility, taking whatever action necessary to avoid the claws of the beast that was all too close for comfort, too swift to outrun. His passenger was rendered breathless as he dodged and ducked away, half scrambling up the rocky slope before leaping back down. He danced around those deadly talons as the creature screeched angrily, so deafeningly the monk had to resist clawing at his own ears.

Zenyatta could only hold on for dear life.

It was entirely impressive how well the vampire could evade such a being, even without use of his arms. Yet, it wasn’t a feat he could keep up forever. Several times, he attempted to make a break for it, to slide down the cliff, but each time, the enormous bird blocked his way, forcing him back. The final time, he dared to free one arm as he fell back into a crouch, using the momentum to spring forward. With great strength, he swiped a leg forward, fending off their foe for a valuable second.

However, it wasn’t enough. All too quickly, the beast recovered and seized its opportunity. It snapped its powerful beak shut around the man’s upper arm. With a roar of pain, Akande slammed his fist into the side of its head, forcing it to release him. He stumbled, attempting to seek solid ground, but only crumbling earth greeted him, the edge of the cliff.

Gravity took over, as the travelers plunged downwards, stealing the scream that involuntarily leapt from Zenyatta as he struggled to hold on. Even now, Akande kept one arm on him, determined to keep him anchored, but it was something that could change at any moment. If it came between saving himself or letting the both of them perish, the choice would not be difficult.

Their fall came to an abrupt halt as the vampire caught hold of a jutting rock. The remaining momentum left the monk dizzy and trembling with fear. He didn’t dare watch as his sandal slipped from his dangling foot to plunge to the rocky outcrop hundreds of feet below. Instead, he clenched his eyes shut, silently reciting every prayer he could recall with each bead of his mala, as he held his breath, knowing all too well their lives could be moments from ending.

And all the while, the shadow of death loomed, its presence like the heat of the sun against his skin.

“Zenyatta...” Akande breathed, voice tensely locked in his throat. “Let go.”

Zenyatta’s eyes snapped open in disbelief. “W-what? What are you saying?” He had expected this, only out of pure cynicism, but hearing it actually come to pass threatened to shake him to his core.

At once, his companion grew desperate, “Let go! Now!” and left no room for protest, snatching the side of his robe. “Trust me!”

Those were the last words the monk heard before he was tossed, almost like a ragdoll. For the longest moment of his life, he was in freefall, expecting it to drag on forever, in utter shock. His body struck solid ground far too soon, stunning him briefly as he was left smarting and bruised, but alive. He gasped, his ribs aching, and coughed, even as he forced himself to his knees.

Less than a dozen feet above him, Akande continued to face off against the crimson menace, whose every wingbeat lit the sky with crackles of energy. It had been a lot shorter fall than he had thought, though the other had known and had thought solely of his safety, just like he had promised. Yet, now that _he_ was out of danger, how would _Akande_ escape, especially with the creature’s attention only on him?

Again, there was a dive, swift and precise, intending to swipe him off the face of the earth, talons ready.

“Akande!”

Without hesitation, the vampire fell, releasing his grip at the last moment. Unlike the monk before him, he struck the side of the cliff with a heavy grunt, rolling the rest of the way until he came to a stop. No sooner than he had hit the ground, there was a collision above them, sending a rain of debris to clatter down. Immediately, Zenyatta was scrambling for his companion, recognizing the looming threat as well as their chance to escape.

“Akande!” he called, reaching his side. “Akande, are you...are you alright?”

At first, the man only groaned, seemingly only half conscious. To the monk’s relief, he stirred within the moment and managed to spare him a disoriented glance. He appeared, for the most part, unharmed, just a little battered; nothing a vampire like him surely couldn’t handle.

Yet, they weren’t out of the woods just yet.

An unearthly screech pierced its way through the volatile night sky, announcing their enemy was not yet done with them.

“Shit...That thing is persistent...” Akande snarled, fighting to rediscover his strength. “Hey...are...are you hurt?”

“I’m fine! Thanks to you!” Zenyatta insisted anxiously, torn between watching the great bird, which could threaten them again at any moment, and tending to Akande, who he was all too worried sick about.  “W-what do we do? _You’re_ hurt!”

He couldn’t forget his gashed arm, especially with it bleeding out right next to him, a dark pool in the light of the stars.

Lightning blossomed across the heavens, followed by a rolling of thunder. With a last few flaps of its powerful wings, the humanoid hawk prepared for the final strike, its prey grounded before them. Its sharp eyes zeroed fiercely on the fallen vampire and him alone, and then Zenyatta knew for certain.

It was Akande it hunted.

“Run...” was breathed by his companion, abnormally loud to his ears even through the chaos. “I don’t...I don’t wish for you to see; I brought this upon myself.”

“That makes two of us...” If there was anything Zenyatta could do to protect Akande, then he was willing to try.

After all, in the end, they were both fools, weren’t they?

“...What?”

He only hoped he was right.

Swift as an arrow, the celestial bird swooped from the heavens, the wind whistling beneath its vast wings. Though his heart hammered in his chest, the monk didn’t falter. If anything, he only placed himself in between the beast and the vampire all the more, protecting him as bodily as he could, daring it to harm him in the process. In a final act of defiance, he held out his hands, his mala jingling from his right, leaving no room for misinterpretation:

This man shall not be slain.

Within an instant, the young monk could feel the beast’s wingbeats against his face, so close its feathers grazed his nose. Then there was a surge of light, yet not from the heavenly bird. Instead, it startled it, tearing a high, bewildered caw from its throat that rang in his ears. Beneath him, though he hadn’t dared to move until then, Akande stared at such a display, eyes wide with awe, disbelief. It was a wonder that lasted mere seconds, yet as soon as the brightness dimmed, they saw that their foe had turned tail and dispersed back from whence it came.

Well, that was unexpected.

 “...What in...the world was that?...Tekhartha?”

There was no answer Zenyatta could rightfully give.

 

* * *

 

 “ _What_ do they teach you up there?”

Akande’s breathless laugh was what at last broke the silence of their trek. The events on the mountaintop had left them speechless, dwelling internally on how they had barely defied death as they limped the rest of the way. This time, it was the vampire who leaned on him for support, having taken the brunt of the Garuda’s fury. Though traveling with only one shoe wasn’t that easy either in the long run.

It would be putting it lightly to say Zenyatta had been in shock when Akande had revealed the identity of whatever the heck that beast had been, that it was practically a god that had been at their throats. In the end, however, it didn’t matter. They had survived, yet it had certainly put matters into perspective.

The Garuda was a guardian of temples, and the borderline kidnapping of a young monk, by an undead being nonetheless, had no doubt invoked its fury.

“I…I'm starting to wonder myself…” Zenyatta muttered, still unable to wrap his head around the fact that, in a way, _he_ was the one who had saved them both. For a moment, his thoughts only continued to wander in a daze. “Where...where should we head now?”

“It wouldn't be wise for us to travel any further like this tonight,” Akande explained, still biting back quiet, pained curses. “I...passed a small crevice around here somewhere. It should...offer suitable cover.”

“Even from the sun?”

Smug, the dark man smirked knowingly. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve, my dear.”

After that, they trudged on in a comfortable silence, the desire to rest mutual between them. It was a miracle that they were able to walk away mostly unharmed. Though the gash across Akande’s arm was never far from the monk’s mind, finding his eyes often caught by the bleeding that was finally beginning to cease. He wondered how quickly they could have it seen to, what he could possibly do to help with his recovery.

“That way...” the vampire directed with a decisive nod of his head. “It isn’t much further.”

The anticipation of shelter was a welcome one. Weariness was already beginning to gnaw at Zenyatta’s consciousness. There was only so much excitement he could handle in one night, at least right off the bat. A place to safely settle down and deliberate would also not be amiss. In fact, it was something just as important as the need to recuperate.

Just as the vampire claimed, there was indeed a split in the cliffside, but the monk had been expecting something...bigger, more welcoming. He supposed this was not the time and place to be picky however and held his tongue. Instead, he looked to the taller man for affirmation.

“Here...We’ll be safe here; I don’t sense anyone else in this area...”

And so, with care, the travelers maneuvered their way inside, one after the other. As Zenyatta had predicted, it wasn’t exactly roomy but it would do. It was protected and discreet, blocking out both the wind and, hopefully, the sun come daylight.

Allowing himself a heavy sigh of his own, the vampire settled into the furthest corner, resting his head against the uneven rocks at his back. “Well, it's no place for a monk,” he commented almost as if in apology.

“It's fine. It's safe and dry; well, mostly dry…” Zenyatta couldn't resist the tiniest remark in the face of peace, feeling surprisingly at ease despite being in the middle of the wilderness with a man he barely knew. For a few moments, he only idly observed their sanctuary before he at last summoned the courage to draw closer to his companion. “Here...”

“Hmm?” Akande regarded him with some bewilderment, finding him before him, reaching for his injured arm.

“I want to...Can I see it? I want to see how bad it is,” the monk murmured, his heartbeat unconsciously picking up speed in such a position. “Maybe I can help...”

It didn’t take the vampire long to relent, gaze softening even as it turned away. “Sure. I don’t see why not. Though it should be healed by tomorrow, so it’s not as bad as it looks.”

He had a point. Vampires healed unnaturally fast. So, perhaps it was useless to worry. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was his training as a monk or his natural compassion, but he longed to try.

“...Do you still have those bandages?”

That snatched the other’s attention once more, with a sort of surprise. “I’m impressed that you remember that...” he uttered, absently reaching into his tolung to retrieve a small roll that he handed off to him with a quirked brow. “Being prepared is something I’ve found to be invaluable. Though I’m not sure why you need—”

“I don’t want your wound to get any worse,” Zenyatta declared, beginning to unravel a fair amount, though he knew how ridiculous the notion was. “There’s always a chance. And it’ll...perhaps help it heal just a little faster.”

For a moment, he could feel how Akande’s keen eyes probed him, before the man at last chuckled. “You flatter me, wanting to fuss over me. I can’t say I don’t appreciate it.” As if giving him a definite go-ahead, he then worked effortlessly to pull the kitycow over his head and place it neatly to one side, exposing both his wound and bare chest to his companion.

His teasing, though mostly innocent in nature, flustered the monk, who turned a light red; it took him a moment just to stop staring at the muscular plains of the vampire’s torso. “Just hold still and let me see.” Determined to remain focused, he shook himself from his daze and concentrated to the best of his ability. Tentatively, he ghosted his fingers over the length of the gash, brows furrowed with concern. “...Does it still hurt?

“No,” was his simple answer, exhaled from a smile.

Zenyatta gave a nod, “That’s good to hear,” before setting to work, wrapping the linen around the girth of Akande’s upper arm, trying to ignore the obvious strength the well-defined muscles possessed; this was not the time to become sidetracked, though it was tempting. “Um...Y-you’re very strong.”

Again, the dark man chortled. “That’s putting it mildly, monk,” he remarked, always amiable. His gaze wandered, as if remembering. “I...used to be a respected warrior in my home town. It was no surprise that my strength easily doubled...when I was turned.”

Zenyatta paused at that, hearing the first specks of knowledge about Akande he had dared to hope for; he lifted his eyes, in hopes of meeting his. “I...I see. You...were turned?” he inquired, voice quiet, almost meek, in the knowledge he could be wandering into uncomfortable territory. So many questions begged to be asked, but it was only Akande who would answer them, when the time was right. “...Did you want to be? Was this...a power you sought?”

“No...” Akande looked away, though the monk didn’t miss the hidden fury in his eyes, the sharp pain. “I did not...I did not ask for this. Even now...I despise the one responsible.”

The monk felt for him then, knowing he could only imagine such a horrible circumstance, though it was also no doubt far from the whole story. However, as much as he yearned to offer him words of comfort, of strength, none would come. Instead, his sympathetic gaze was quick to antagonize Akande, whose eyes grew hard with annoyance.

“Don't think I don't see you, monk. I didn't ask for your pity,” he growled, in an apparent attempt to nurse his pride. He turned on him, though he lacked any passion in his veil of aggression. “I would think you would worry more about yourself, being in my power. My past is no crutch; do not underestimate me.”

He did not frighten Zenyatta, though he might have wished to in that moment. “You don't mean that, do you? No, I know you don't. I can see it in your eyes,” he countered softly, head tilted curiously. “If I have pushed too far or have made you uncomfortable...you just need to say. I am a humble monk; there is nothing to intimidate from me.”

It was such a quiet, meaningful moment as this that reminded Zenyatta, “Besides...if I am...to be your groom…you have to trust me,” he added, trying not to sound as coy as he felt. “You have to trust me to care for you...and about you.”

His words sunk deep, silencing Akande with their meaning. In the calm left behind, the monk only continued his work, gently wrapping the gash, covering a little more with each circle of the man’s arm. However, he paused when his patient once again spoke up, his musing quiet and thoughtful.

“How did I get as lucky as I must have been?” he murmured, almost to himself. Zenyatta glanced up at that, their gazes locking; pain and anger had been replaced by a tenderness that nearly left him breathless. “I still don’t understand...why you agreed to go through with this. Aren’t you afraid of me?”

Worrying for a moment he would get lost in those eyes, he allowed his own to slip away, almost submissively; even without fear, there was great respect, for the man and for what he was. “You have given me no reason to be,” he reasoned softly. “Though I still don’t quite understand all this myself.”

“...Fair enough. Mystery is rife in this world, even within ourselves.”

He chuckled.  “I’m glad we’re on the same page, sir.”

“You know...you don’t have to call me sir, dear Zenyatta.”

“What do you suggest then?” Slyly, he permitted himself a small smile, enjoying their banter, if only a little.

Though it was obvious the vampire already had something in mind, he feigned a moment of deep thought, his gaze intense. “...Ọkọ mi seems like an appropriate start.”

“...What?”

Despite how the foreign phrase puzzled him, he resumed worrying about his patient, even with his eyes hardly straying as he stared, hoping for clarification. He was nearing the end of the dressing and pressed his left hand down on the bandage. Meanwhile, his right hand passed over in preparation to tie it in place. A spark under his palm stopped him in his tracks, a spark which strengthened and illuminated the heart of the cave with its glow. Both stared in awe at the display, before it steadily died down.

For a silent minute that seemed to drag on for the longest time, neither spoke.

“...So, tell me...is glowing _normal_ for you, monk?” Akande inquired, disguising his bewilderment with an uneasy remark. “This is the second time tonight.”

Dazed, Zenyatta slowly removed his hand. “No...” he murmured. “This is new; I promise you.”

Then he realized. The once angry gash that sliced down the man’s bicep was no longer there. It had vanished, healed over in a matter of seconds. The monk couldn’t help but wonder if this was yet again his own doing.

Hands shaking from nerves, he unraveled the linen slowly, in fear of making any sudden movement in this time of strangeness. Akande too could not tear his eyes away, the gears within them turning as he analyzed the undisputable act of magic. Then they slid to him, seeking answers that he could not give.

Instinctively, Zenyatta offered his outturned palms, ready to defend his innocence, utterly clueless about where this inner light could've originated.

Akande beat him to it. “You can heal. How...peculiar,” he mused thoughtfully. Then his gaze fell upon his mala and he reached for it without thought, drawn by curiosity. “Is it this--”

At once, the monk pulled it from his grasp. “Don't. It was my brother's,” he protested meekly. He then realized, for a fleeting moment, how rude it may have seemed. “...I'm sorry.”

Initially, Zenyatta feared he would persist in his quest. However, the vampire only settled back, respecting his denial with an amused chuckle. He still appeared slightly bewildered by what he had seen firsthand, but only shook his head ruefully, clasping his knees.

“I'm starting to think it's _me_ whose underestimated _you_. You're not as powerless as you appear, at least for a human.”

“But I don't...Are you sure it's not...some coincidence? I'm not…” Whatever Zenyatta was attempting to say died on his tongue with uncertainty.

“Now, are you positive it's not _you_ who is underestimating yourself?”

It was all very confusing. This apparent new power he had twice wielded, that light unmistakable, his paradoxical ease while with Akande, the way they conversed so easily, their words flowing like water. There was much strangeness about them this night, perhaps something he would have to adjust to.

He was just a simple monk, seemingly following an undead hunter down a path much unknown.

A cool touch to his cheek jolted him gently back to reality, devoid of warmth.

“Don't go pouting on me now,” was the vampire’s light teasing as he was welcomed back with a sweet smile. “We’ll figure this out. The answers will come.”

Remembering his weariness then, Zenyatta took the gauntlet into his hands, removing it from his face, squinting at it suspiciously. It was the subject of his curiosity all night, but he had felt it best to leave it be, until now. “Like this? What _is_ this?” he inquired frankly. He couldn’t imagine a reason for a vampire needing a weapon like this; they were impressive enough by themselves. “Why would you need this?”

Without much of a thought but the desire to investigate, the monk removed the bronze gauntlet, streamlined, and crafted of fine metal; it was practically flawless.

“It’s enchanted.”

Utterly involved, Zenyatta turned the masterpiece of bronze work in his hands, even peeking inside. “Oh? What does that do?”

There was a pause then, heavy with something he was too preoccupied to notice.

“It’s my arm...for one.”

Surprised by such an answer, the monk’s eyes jerked up to meet Akande’s. He found seriousness there, with only a touch of amusement, fondness. Hesitantly, he then gazed down at the arm he had just taken the gauntlet from, only to find...there was indeed no arm. Horror crept into his veins, like the cold of the night outside, as he stared at the stump that remained just past his elbow.

“How rude...”

The gauntlet twitched in his hold, the fingers flexing.

Sense abandoning him in his fright, Zenyatta jumped, “Aah!” and fumbled with the not so inanimate object. “I’m sorry! Ah!”

“Quit playing around and give it back.” Despite his words, Akande looked as though he was holding back a case of uproarious laughter at his reactions. “Before you hurt yourself.”

“O-of course!”

Summoning the will to be still, the young man finally held it over, heart still hammering in his chest. The other took it frankly and eased it back into place. It fit like a charm, obviously molded to do just that. Satisfied, he twitched the digits of the gauntlet.

“...I lost my arm decades ago...in a struggle with...another vampire.”

“I-I'm sorry that happened to you, sir,” he uttered, almost automatically, though not certain if that apology was his to give or if it was even wanted.

A sharp glance reminded him of his slip of the tongue, freezing him to the spot for a breathless moment; he gave a sheepish smile.

“Don't be. Conflict makes one stronger,” he declared with a hint of pride, lifting his chin. “And I have survived a century of it, little monk.”

He would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t the least bit charmed by the vampire. “I suppose then that I will be in good hands,” he ventured, fidgeting as he stared down at his hands.

Zenyatta expected Akande to beam at such a compliment, which he had every right to. However, he instead paused, as though realization crashed upon him. His sharp eyes traveled, settling on him at first, looking him up and down, before wandering to the entrance.

“...Unfortunately, I can only protect you during the night,” he admitted. The monk wasn’t sure, but he swore he detected the faintest traces of apprehension, of fear. “I can’t be with you during the day...for obvious reasons; you’ll be on your own. And there are more dangers than you would think. Creatures like me are experts at hiding in plain sight.”

“...Like what?” the young man was almost too hesitant to ask, though, the lack of knowledge would only be his own death.

Thoughtfully, the other leaned on one knee, supporting his chin in a large hand. “Demons, for one, are common in this area. That’s quite troubling; lone monks are their favorite targets.”

Unconsciously, the monk swallowed tensely, eyes wide at the thought. “...Oh,” he breathed faintly. “...W-what do they look like? What do I do? Should I...just stay here?”

“Give me your hand. Your right one.”

So anxious for answers, Zenyatta did so without question. Though he was immediately put on high alert as the vampire’s thumb brushed almost lovingly over his old mark, just past the last loop of his mala. Abruptly self-conscious, he couldn't resist shrinking back slightly, color touching his cheeks, though his skin was clammy against his own, sending a small chill up his spine.

“What are you doing?”

“Renewing your mark. Out here, it'll be the only protection I can offer you in the daylight,” he explained gently, patiently, though his eyes didn't wander from his wrist. “They'll think twice about harming you, with the knowledge that it’ll invite a vampire’s fury upon them.”

It was an almost flattering offer, one that brought heat flooding to his face along with it. “I...I see...” Nonetheless, the thought of those fangs once again sinking into his veins...Last time it had been a sharp, almost agonizing pain that nearly had him in tears, but maybe it had been the shock of its entirety.

Then he remembered Akande was watching, seeing every ounce of emotion flicker across his expression. However, instead of speaking up, he leaned forward, slowly, with intent, a delicate grip on his arm keeping him. Bewildered, the monk’s mouth fell open, but no sound would come; his mind scrambled, flustered, at the whole new level of closeness.

A brisk breath of air grazed the outer shell of Zenyatta’s ear, subconsciously coaxing a shiver from his body. Then came those lips, pressing a ghost of a kiss to the spot just behind it. It was startlingly intimate, unexpected. He stiffened, though he was uncertain about how else to react or feel.

“W-what...what are you...?”

Within the moment, the vampire had pulled away, returning to a more comfortable distance, “Memorizing your scent, so I can find you if we’re apart...” though his grip on his hand reminded. He felt there was something more he wished to mention, to ask, but it only lingered, unsaid between them. “...May I? I promise to be gentle.”

Despite himself, he nodded, agreeing with only a fraction of reluctance, his heart hammering quietly against its cage.

As promised, his companion moved with care, gaze studying his, as he went for his wrist. The jolt of pain that followed was almost familiar, jumping up the nerve of his arm. Still, something more touched him, a secret thrill that was as fleeting as the bite that brought it to the surface. This time, he was able to resist the stinging of tears, as well as any whimpers that longed to leave his throat, willing himself to keep quiet, to remain firm in the face of Akande’s gesture.

After all, he only did it with his safety in mind.

“Are you still well?” came the low question that he almost missed, a rumble between them.

Zenyatta longed to offer him a decent answer, yet he found himself only able to nod in affirmation, still recovering from the ordeal.

For a moment, the dark man paused. “I’m glad...” he murmured, a tinge of regret marring the strength of his voice, even as he wrapped the new wound with a fresh bandage, almost practiced in his mannerisms. “...You should rest soon. I’ll be about for a while more, but...I’ll be here when you wake.”

By now, the monk couldn’t find the energy nor reason to protest. However, more than ever, it was easy to remember that the man he was with wasn’t human. The bite had been enough to set his mind racing, with countless, almost illogical questions, reawakening a more primal sort of apprehension.

Where would he go? What would he do under the cover of the night, while he slept? Would _he_ even be safe from his thirst, if it really came down to it?

He tried to tell himself that Akande wouldn’t hurt him, but with the agony of the renewed mark only just beginning to fade, he knew even that wasn’t certain. There was only so much he could control, so much that he knew, had a say in. Accordingly, he could only hope for daybreak. Maybe everything would have a better sense of clarity then.

“Sleep well, monk. You’ll need it.”

Despite his best efforts, the dread would not leave him be, though he spoke nothing of it, his mind clouded by weariness and the spell of the twilight. “...Thank you.”

It took a long while for sleep to find him in the coolness of the cave, even with his exhaustion reaching its peak. By the time the calm of it enveloped at last his senses, Akande had gone, slipping out unnoticed. That night, he dreamed of home, of Genji and Mondatta, wondering if they missed him as much as he did them.

The great unknown awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Symmetra to be in this chapter, and I can't wait for her, but it would've dragged it on insanely long. Next chapter, she'll make her grand entrance. We also might get to check up on Genji and Mondatta. Maybe. Though, this time, I'm really going to have to switch gears and work on another story, for now. But I'll work on the next chapter soon. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> P.S And if anyone is curious about Zenyatta's parents, it's not that exciting. Just a typical yet somber human situation. But yeah, they're dead. Kind of a balance to the exciting shit Zenyatta's about to go through.


End file.
